


Sins of the Father

by LacePendragon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Gen, Jacques Schnee's Terrible Parenting, Post V7C4, Spoilers for V7C4, This Fic is From Whitley's POV There's A Lot of Abuse, discussion of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacePendragon/pseuds/LacePendragon
Summary: After Jacques tells Whitley to shut the door and leave them, Whitley hurries off, terrified, to find Klein. There's no end in sight to the terrors of his home life, but at least he isn't alone.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 133





	Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> In this house we love and respect Whitley Schnee and recognize that he is a literal child in an abusive situation that has never had the opportunities Weiss and Winter had to escape it. This doesn't make his situation better or worse, only different.
> 
> In the scene with Whitley and Jacques in chapter 4, Whitley sounded so _scared_ that I had to sit down and write something. Sashathephoenix, on Tumblr, sparked the idea to include Klein.
> 
> Enjoy. I guess? It's heavy. It's really heavy.

Whitley hugged himself as he hurried through the massive, cold manor that was supposed to be his home. Funny, how he only noticed that it was so cold and empty now that Weiss was gone. She’d been the last bit of warmth in his biological family, despite their differences. He missed her.

She was in Atlas, too. But free to do what she wished. Father couldn’t control her, any longer. He’d been furious, to find that out. He’d come back from the military base several hours ago, picked up a drink, and found Whitley in the parlour room, playing piano.

His eyes welled with tears at the memory of this afternoon. His shoulders lifted toward his ears. He hunched himself down and kept going, further from the study.

Father’s shouts echoed in his ears. Whitley scurried on.

The piano would need fixing, after Father had slammed his fists across it while he yelled at Whitley. But Father might go months before he thought to have it fixed. Whitley’s only way of making noise in this house without getting punished was with that piano. The piano could draw Mother out of her room, make her smile, if only for a few minutes.

He’d taken that away.

Whitley turned down a thinner hallway, the service hallway, and hurried to the room at the end. It was late, late enough that Whitley wondered if who he sought was even awake.

But he couldn’t be alone. Not without his piano. Not with the fear that if he picked up a book, Father would take that, as well.

He’d gotten so much worse, since Weiss had left. Nothing else in the house, except Whitley, drew his ire. Whitley didn’t _understand_. He was the perfect son. He did everything Father asked. Including destroy his relationships with Weiss and Winter, when they turned on Father. Why did Father want to hurt him? Why wouldn’t Father tell him he was doing a good job?

Was Whitley not good enough?

Was Whitley doing something wrong?

He reached the door and rapped at it, soft. Waited, trembling, for the door to open.

When it did, Whitley stared up at Klein, so hunched over that Klein was taller than him, and he waited, trembling, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Oh, my boy,” said Klein. He held open his arms and drew Whitley in with a gesture. “Come in, come in.” Whitely stumbled forward and latched onto Klein, arms around him, one under Klein’s arm, one over, and buried his face in Klein’s shoulder. Klein stepped back, taking Whitley with him. He nudged the door shut and Whitley stumbled as Klein sat them down on his bed.

Klein stroked his hair and held him close as Whitley shivered and cried into his shoulder. He clung to Klein, death grip around him as he tried to calm himself. He needed to calm down. If Father found out he was crying, Whitley would be punished. Men didn’t cry, Father said. Real men had no reason to cry. It was one of Father’s least favourite things about General Ironwood – General Ironwood cried.

Whitley wasn’t supposed to be like General Ironwood. Not when his sisters both chased after him and left him alone.

There were two ways to survive: run or adapt. Whitley couldn’t run. So, he’d adapted.

So why he was being punished for his sisters’ mistakes?

_And why hadn’t they taken him with them?_

“Did you need to talk or is this all right?” asked Klein. He combed his fingers through Whitley’s hair. His words were spoken, whispered, really, into the side of Whitley’s head. Whitley sniffled.

“There’s someone here,” said Whitley into Klein’s shoulder. It hadn’t been at all what he’d meant to say, but it was important, too.

“Did you let them in?” asked Klein. When he said those words, they sounded so much nicer than when Father did.

Whitley shook his head and sat back from Klein. He was half in Klein’s lap. If Father was here, he’d call it inappropriate, say he was too old for such things, and sneer his stupid mustached sneer at Klein until Klein agreed with him and pushed Whitley away. For his safety, Klein would say, later, like he always did. He didn’t want to make things worse for Whitley, he always said.

Still, Whitley liked times like this. He’d never gotten to sit in laps as a child. Mother was too fragile, Father said, and Father refused. If Whitley wanted physical affection, he went to Klein, and Klein always obliged.

There was no “too old” for Klein. Everyone could use love, he always said.

“He let himself in,” whispered Whitley. He stared down at his lap, drawing his hands into it to fiddle with a loose thread on his pants. “He… it was as if the security systems weren’t there. The cameras, the door alarm, all of it.” Whitley lifted his head to stare at Klein. Horror edged into his voice now that he wasn’t trying to hide it from Father. “Like a ghost.”

“A ghost?” echoed Klein. He soothed his hands on Whitley’s shoulders. “It’s possible. There are semblances that do such things.” He lifted his hand to soothe it through Whitley’s hair. His brow furrowed. “Do you know what he looked like?”

Whitley frowned, leaning his head into Klein’s touch. He closed his eyes to picture the man better, though he didn’t need to.

“He was… tall. And very thin. He had a mustache, like father, and black hair. He was darker skinned, too.” He tried to think of more. “He had a suitcase and an umbrella and… Father called him by name.”

“What name?” asked Klein.

“Arthur.”

Klein’s hand stopped.

“Whitley,” said Klein. Whitley opened his eyes. He lifted his head to look into Klein’s. He looked rather pale. “You must promise me you’ll stay far, far away from this man.”

Whitley stared. “Why?” he asked. He twitched, one shoulder coming up. Father hated questions. But Klein wasn’t Father.

Why was it so hard for his emotions to remember that?

Klein frowned as he spoke, his eyes looking far away. “That Arthur, if he’s the Arthur I’m thinking of, is incredibly dangerous, and his letting himself into this house was the least of our problems.”

Whitley shivered. The feeling he got when he first saw Arthur in the house returned. The way he’d stared at Whitley, like Whitley was a piece of a puzzle, one that didn’t quite fit. The way he’d smiled, slow and sure, when he’d called Whitley his Father’s “obedient little clone”. The low chuckle he’d given when Whitley had peered into the study, terrified, to interrupt Father.

If Arthur was that scary, would Father come to find Whitley, after he was gone?

“I promise,” said Whitley. His voice caught in his throat as all the fear rolled back in. His stomach churned and his mouth went dry.

“Klein I—” He shivered, a cold sweat on his skin. “I don’t want to live here anymore,” whispered Whitley. He fisted his hands in his lap. His vision blurred and tears slipped down his cheeks. His voice cracked. “But there’s nowhere else I can _go._” He sniffled and lifted a hand, rubbing at the tears with his palm. “Weiss and Winter hate me. I don’t have an aura. And I don’t know anyone else.” He hiccupped. “What do I _do_, Klein?”

Klein drew him close, back into the hug, and stroked his back. “We’ll find an answer, Whitley. I promise you.” He pressed a kiss to Whitley’s hair. Whitley relaxed a bit into his arms. “Your sisters don’t hate you. I know them well. They worry about you.”

Whitley sniffled. “Okay,” he said. But he didn’t believe Klein. Weiss’ face when Whitley had last spoken to her had been the image of betrayal. He didn’t expect her to ever forgive him. He’d told her the truth, but it hadn’t been what she needed.

“Klein?” Whitley took a breath. “If… if I ran away, would you come with me?” He stared at Klein’s vest, his forehead against Klein’s shoulder and tears still falling. “Could we be a family?”

“I would love that,” whispered Klein into his ear. “But I still need to save your mother.”

Whitley sniffled. “We’ll take her too,” he said, voice cracking. “We can get her into rehab. If the General is as nice as Weiss says, he’ll pay for it, right?” He lifted his head to look at Klein. He knew he sounded desperate, but he was. “Right?”

Klein watched him with sad eyes. That wasn’t what Whitley wanted. “I can’t let Jacques take the company from the Schnees, Whitley. I promised your grandfather that I’d keep his family safe, when he first hired me.”

Whitley wondered what his grandfather had been like. Klein always said he was a kind man. Klein always saw when people were good or bad.

“Then I’ll stay,” said Whitley, his fingers tightening in Klein’s vest.

“If you think you can run, you run,” said Klein. “Don’t stay for me.”

Whitley sniffled. “I’m not running.” He wiped at his eyes. “Not without you.”

“Whitley—”

“No!” Whitley jumped at the volume of his own voice. He cleared his throat. “You’re the only one who’s always cared about me. You’ve always kept me safe. If you think you can save this family, then I’m staying.” He rubbed at one of his eyes. “Besides, I’m not eighteen. Not like Winter and Weiss were. Father could take me back, no matter where I went.” He let out a bitter laugh. “And he’d find me. I’m the last kid. He can’t lose me.”

Klein brushed his thumb across Whitley’s face, sweeping away stray tears that Whitley had missed.

“We’ll free ourselves soon, Whitley,” said Klein. “I promise you. One day, you won’t have to fear your Father.”

Whitley curled himself into Klein’s arms as Klein drew him close. “I wish you were my father,” he whispered.

Klein stiffened, then relaxed. “Me too,” he whispered into Whitley’s hair. “Me too.”

They stayed like that, for a while, while Whitley debated what to do, and if he should hide, before Father found him in Klein’s room again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always adored! Though I recognize this fic is a hard one to talk about.


End file.
